(Because of medical reasons, I’m going to be late to school. As a result I get to sleep in. When I get out, mum calls me to watch yet another thing she has paused on the television. I am 15.)

TV: “People at the age of—”

Mum: *pauses TV* “Are you listening?”

Me: “Yes, I am.”

TV: *on play again* “—sixteen should have a part-time job.”

(The TV is paused on and off while mum talks about how I think she’s nagging and telling me off, but really she’s been trying to prepare me for life. I mention that no, I don’t think that, and I’ve been worrying about getting a job for a while now.)

TV: “Now, kids at the age of fifteen should actually know what’s going on with finances. The parents should tell the teenager how much income they’re earning, wh—”

Mum: *pauses TV yet again* “Now, I don’t think you need to know about this. It’s my business, not yours. Are you listening?”

Me: “Mm-hmm.”

Mum: “Why don’t you get a job? You really should!”

(She started a big speech about what jobs I could get and income and whatnot. I wanted to go get a job, as I can type. I should have a while ago, but social anxiety and NotAlwaysRight have made me fear jobs, as I am sarcastic and would likely be fired immediately.)

(My father, a nurse, has always been of the opinion that unless you’re running a fever or near death, you don’t need to go to the doctor. Despite my pleading, he never took me in for yearly checkups or anything of the sort.)

Me: *age 12* “Dad, I really need to go to the doctor.”

Dad: “Are you sick?”

Me: “I don’t have a fever but—”

Dad: “Then you’re not going. You’re fine.”

Me: “It’s… a woman… thing… Can I please just go?”

Dad: “No.”

(Time passes.)

Me: *age 17* “Dad, I need to make a doctor’s appointment.”

Dad: “You’re not sick.”

Me: “I still need to go! I haven’t been to the doctor since I was eight and I have this lump—”

Dad: “No. End of story. You’re fine.”

(I move out and get my own health insurance.)

Me: *age 19, on the phone* “Gotta go. My doctor’s appointment is soon.”

Dad: “Are you sick?”

Me: “Honestly? Most likely. It’s not like I ever went to the doctor as a kid.”

Dad: “You never needed to. You were always healthy.”

(As it turned out, not so much. I had a slow growing cancer that had already spread, and I’d probably had it for at least a few years. And I also had a bad hormone imbalance that messed up my reproductive system so badly I eventually needed a hysterectomy — which I wouldn’t have needed if I’d been put on medication years back. There was a whole slew of other problems, all of which could have been caught and mostly prevented if I’d gone to the doctor regularly. Take your kids to the doctor, people!)

(My boyfriend asks me to play golf with him and his friend. The friend is driving us and seeing as I live in the suburb between them the logical thing is for the friend to pick me up on the way to my boyfriend’s house. I am almost ready as he arrives so invite him into the house and quickly introduce him to my dad who tells me he needs to have a quiet word to me in the kitchen.)

Dad: “So why are you going out with him? What about [Boyfriend]?”

Me: “We aren’t going out. He’s picking me up on his way to [Boyfriend]’s place.”

Dad: “It’s not right. He should have picked [Boyfriend] up first and come back to get you. You should tell him to do that.”

Me: “He’s doing us a favour. I am not going to tell him to drive 15 minutes there and 15 minutes back and then drive back past [Boyfriend]’s place to get to [Golf Club].”

Dad: “It’s still not right. You need to think about [Boyfriend] before you get in the car with this guy.”

Me: “Well, I’m going.”

(Later.)

Friend: *to Boyfriend* “I have to say that [My Name]’s father must like you; you should have heard him having a ‘quiet’ word to her in the kitchen.”

(I just had my first child and have moved to a rented townhouse in a seaside suburb. My mother has brought my mother-in-law for her first visit to see the new baby. My mother-in-law has always lived in the public housing system with low subsided rents and most of her daughters do as well. She believes that I had a privileged upbringing while in fact my parents worked hard for what they had and taught the principles to me. Her first husband was abusive and violent. Just before I left hospital I had to have a deep vein blood test, which was painful and left prominent bruising, including finger marks where the doctor was firmly holding my arm still.)

Mother-In-Law: *looking at our small but nice townhouse* “How much does this cost?”

Me: “The rent is $[amount] a week.”

Mother-In-Law: “No, you should be in [Public Housing]. The rent is much cheaper.”

Me: “We don’t qualify. [Husband] earns too much.”

Mother-In-Law: “This is what you do. You go down to [Housing Department] and you tell them that you’ve left [Husband] because he’s abusing you” *my mother and I are both looking at her in shock* “You’ll get emergency housing right away and then he can move back in with you in a few months”.”

Me: *calmly rolling up my sleeve* “I guess I could show them this.”

Mother-In-Law: *her eyes go steely and she shrieks* “DID [HUSBAND] DO THAT TO YOU?!”

Me: *still calm* “No, but you are telling me to tell the authorities that he does.”

Mother-In-Law: *stutters* “I’m just trying to get you and him cheaper housing.”

Me: “We are fine here, thanks.”

(I think I shocked her enough to stop giving such advice to me but not to her own daughters, one of whom was investigated for cheating the public housing system.)

(My mom is in the kitchen eating a salad she just made and I am sitting at the counter a few feet away. My brother walks in just as my mom tilts the bowl, stabs a piece of lettuce, and spills the salad all over the floor, startling everyone with the clatter of the fork.)

Brother: “What happened?!”

Mom: “I tossed my salad!” *proceeds to crack up*